FOR HER, HE WILL SET EVERY KINGDOM ON FIRE.
Kyron LeFur never wanted to be king. He may have united a torn people and ended a bloody war, but none of that matters without his queen. She sacrificed her crown for him, and now he will stop at nothing t...
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Hills of clothes, mountains of books, and canyons constructed of framed art and chests of jewels make up the labyrinth that is Ashavee's workspace. She sits in a red high-backed chair behind a sturdy wooden desk, logging the Allaji's newest acquisitions into a journal. The valuables are sorted on shelves that almost touch the storeroom's ceiling. The shifters don't find worth in items which don't ensure their survival. Books, art, and most clothing are considered nothing more than fire kindle. My heart aches at seeing the talent and history of other kingdoms, including my own, discarded without a second thought.
"Ulric won't sit still," I say from my place on the floor next to a heap of clothes. "He opened the wound on his back again this morning and ruined another shirt. And don't get me started on what it is like sharing a bed with him. The man is in constant motion, up and down, walking and turning. How is he ever going to heal if he doesn't take it easy?"
Ashavee glances up from the book she is logging items into and cocks a brow. "I'm sure much of it is a nervous habit. It can't be easy to be under the same roof as your enemy."
"Trust me, I know."
"And how is your leg?"
I run my hand over my tender thigh. The ache is continuous, and I fight not to limp when I walk. Any show of weakness can be used against me, whether it's in Zek's throne room or walking the halls of his palace. I will not let my enemy think I'm easy prey, "The stitches have held up well enough for me to sneak out of the room while Ulric was napping. Even if he woke up, I'm sure I could outrun him."
"I'm not sure that gives you bragging rights, considering what he's been through."
"I take what I can get these days," I say, folding a tunic and adding it to my pile for Ulric.
Two days ago, making a joke about Ulric's condition would have been the furthest thing from my mind. His physical state was heart wrenching. I could barely look at him without tears welling in my eyes and stabbing pain in my chest. He is still weak, but the color is returning to his complexion and his gaunt features plump with each meal. With him on the mend, it's difficult not to think of the Cyffred who are not as lucky as him. If Zek has his way, more will a worse fate than Ulric.
"You just need to keep him entertained," Ashavee says, tossing a scroll at me. "Maybe you can have him solve the mystery of the Cruel King's Stone."
I remove the frayed leather tie and unrolling the water-stained paper. The black ink is smeared in several places, but the image is still discernable—a map. Of where, I'm not sure, but it is detailed with sloppy notes written along the edges, marking places of interest. "What is the Cruel King's Stone?" I ask.
"You never went on treasure hunts as a child to look for the most powerful of all the Sacred Gifts—the one that can give and take power?"
"No. I didn't have time for many games as a child. I had history and royal protocol to learn. When I had the chance for fun, my best friend and I were sparring. We were determined to become the most skilled sword fighters in the five kingdoms," I say, basking in the memory of Leif and I clashing swords in the middle of the forest.
